


Payback

by Solziv



Series: Pranks Gone Wrong [1]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Dominoes, Elaborate revenge, G1, GEEWUN, Gen, Generation 1, Generation One, Humor, Is it possible to wedgie a Transformer?, It's a Trap!, Lambo Twins, Payback, Revenge, This is the last straw!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solziv/pseuds/Solziv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G1. The Lamborghini twins have pranked Ratchet once too many, and it’s about time he paid them back – with a little help from Jazz. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payback

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HurricaneHannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricaneHannah/gifts).



> This was one of those stories that I thought would be a big challenge, but it came together fairly quickly, and was a lot of fun to do. It’s such a stupid fic, ‘though. XD

There was a good reason the Chief Medical Officer fumed, and it had nothing to do with the Decepticons – not this time, at least. Sopping wet, he trod puddles of putrid water along the hallways of the Autobot base, heading for the medical bay. The doors parted and he entered, advancing towards his workspace, where he could dry off and proceed with repairing a deep lesion on Jazz’s forearm.

Said black and white mech followed the medic, carefully manoeuvring around the wet flooring. As much as his injury hurt, he didn’t feel it was a good time to bring it up, as Ratchet muttered Cybertronian curses.

“Those slagging twins…did it to me again…”

It was the same story every time. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would cook up a childish practical joke in their mischievous little CPUs, then decide which Autobot to perform it on; more often than not, said target was the CMO. Once it was all over, Optimus would catch the pair, give them a talking-to and light slap on the wrist, then send them on their way. It was hardly a punishment.

Ratchet was _sick_ of it.

Considering that the rant had descended into silence, the Special Operations officer thought it a good idea to announce that he was in incredible pain and close to biting his own tongue off. Of course, his relaxed tenor gave nothing away. “Could you seal this crack? It hurts a _little_ …”

Distracted by the notion of a comrade needing medical attention, the ambulance ‘bot approached and immediately began repairs. “Right.” But it was clear that current events still plagued his mind. “Can you believe those two? They were _supposed_ to divert a river for Prime, but sent it ‘round to where I stood! And just when I was trying to calm down Red Alert, too!” He clenched his free servo into a fist, shaking it at nothing in particular. “This is the _last straw_!”

Jazz almost sighed aloud, having heard the speech a thousand times, and cleared his vocal processor. “How about returning the favour? You know, pranking _them_?”

The CMO paused and stared at his friend in a moment of consideration. Then a smirk crossed his faceplate. “That is an _excellent_ idea.” He finished his work, then strolled over to one of the consoles and began rifling through blueprints and information – which rightfully belonged to Perceptor; the scientist would not be pleased about his documents being moved. “It’s time to give them a taste of their own medicine!”

The car ‘bot couldn’t help his curiosity, approaching and leaning over to see exactly what was written on those large pieces of paper. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Ratchet planned to construct an overly-complicated breakfast machine. “Hey, man, is there any way I can help?”

Those were the magic words. The more who approved of or wanted to get involved in the practical joke, the merrier. Perhaps Prime would then consider the brothers’ pranks more than just playful antics.

“Excellent!” the medic retorted. “Here’s what I want you to do…”

* * *

 

After a long search around the base, Jazz finally located the Lamborghini duo in the most obvious of places – the briefing room. They furiously typed commands into Teletraan 1 and giggled, no doubt antagonising the computer with absurd requests.

Since they hadn’t spotted the black and white Autobot yet, he felt it would be an extra bit of fun to startle them. He crept up between them, and bellowed, “Officer on the bridge!”

The duo instinctively bolted dead upright and turned on their pedes to face their superior, but were less than impressed by the latter’s grin. Sunstreaker folded both arms over his chestplate, grumbling, whilst Sideswipe wore a lighter expression.

“What were you two typing into Teletraan 1?” Jazz enquired.

“We, er…nothing,” the red Lamborghini stammered, attempting to look innocent…with debatable results. “So, uh, what can we do for you?”

“Optimus has a patrol little job for you two. Head to these co-ordinates on the double.”

Whilst the twins were less than pleased with the ‘assignment’, an authoritative glare was motivation enough for them to surrender and head off towards their destination.

* * *

 

The surrounding area was peaceful, the only sound coming from an energetic bird. It truly was paradise, and Sideswipe took in a deep breath, any stress alleviated by the fresh scent of wood, chlorophyll and squirrels. Beachcomber would be so envious.

On the other hand, Sunstreaker, whose attention span for anything other than himself (excluding a mirror) was considerably short, was frustrated to be trapped in the middle of his forest…until he discovered something at the top of the mound ahead of them. It was rectangular and black, with white spots in a geometric pattern. If he remembered correctly, the humans called them “dominoes”.

Without hesitating, he took hold of his sibling and charge up the hill. Behind the first domino was another, and another – there was an entire, long trail of them, leading away. They were just begging to be knocked down, and he couldn’t resist. His forefinger reached out and touched the first in the line.

The red car ‘bot realised what was about to occur. His optics lit with fear. _It’s a trap!_ He darted forwards, reaching out an arm to stop his brother. “Bro, _don’t_!”

But it was a wasted effort. The dominoes fell, one after another. Although worried about where they led, the pair was unable to fight their inquisitive programming, and they eagerly chased the movement.

When the final one clattered to the ground, the twins awaited the next move.

Nothing.

“Aw…” the mechs complained in unison, slumping their shoulders.

“Well, that was anti-climactic!” Sunstreaker snapped, exasperatedly throwing his arms in the air.

“I guess that means we should head back,” Sideswipe sadly remarked.

But he spoke too soon.

The ground shifted, destabilising their footing. Staggering backwards to regain their balance, they peered downwards, and recognised a conveyor belt on the ground, slowly advancing.

 _Someone_ must have placed it there, but who? And, more importantly, who would have had the _time_? It boggled the CPU.

The Lamborghinis were distracted by their legs connecting with a thin length of wire, which snapped under the pressure. It was immediately followed by a high-pitched whistle, which made the pair jump. Dead ahead, a kettle boiled, its water turning to steam and lightening the weight on the platform it sat upon. It released a ball that began rolling down a long tube, which struck a switch at the bottom.

At lightning speed, mechanical arms fired from either side and slapped cream pies into the Autobots’ faceplates. The two spat out cream and wiped it from their optics, confused, slightly frightened and unprepared for what lay ahead.

Sunstreaker jolted, as something wet struck his armour. He turned his head and saw the culprit – a hose. And it was spraying him with _pink paint_! Try as he might, his efforts to stop it were in vain, and the discomfort didn’t stop, until he was completely covered.

Whilst the yellow mech practically cried his optics out at the change to his paint job, Sideswipe doubled over and slapped his knee joints, chuckling. Yet it didn’t last long, as several more hoses emerged and struck him, too. They sporadically sprayed over portions of his armour, then retreated. He straightened and observed himself, then let out a whimper. A spectacular rainbow covered his entire body. It was beautiful to look at, but just not the sort of colours he enjoyed wearing.

This admiration was interrupted by a yelp from his brother’s vocal chords. Startled by the noise, the red Lamborghini turned his head and saw that a multitude of mouse traps had clamped to the already ghastly pink colouration and somehow made it look worse – especially the ones on places _really_ not meant for them.

Sideswipe was ready to collapse onto his knees from the hilarity, until a hook attached to his aft and pulled sharply upwards, making him yelp like a wounded dog.

 _How’s it even possible to wedgie a Transformer?_ he idly wondered; anything to divert his attention from the pain.

After a good thirty seconds of suffering, he was roughly dropped to the ground. Slowly trying to rise, he tripped over the edge of the end of the conveyor belt, and flopped onto the ground in a heap, with his head in the dirt and aft in the air.

“Ow…” he moaned, his voice muffled.

From behind, Sunstreaker continued to yell and furiously tug the mouse traps from his armour, which only caused yet more agony. Then he, too, reached the end, and tumbled, landing atop his brother.

“G-get off!” the ruddy Autobot spluttered, feebly attempting to shove the other away. The yellow twin let out a loud noise of complaint, then flopped down next to the former.

Now absolutely mentally and physically exhausted, the pair slowly forced themselves to sit up, bewildered and somewhat scarred by their bizarre experience. They came to the conclusion that it was far too elaborate for a Decepticon trap, which meant it had to be one of the Autobots. Jazz _had_ instructed them to enter the forest, but he couldn’t have been able to complete it alone.

So, who _was_ it?

Victorious laughter came from nearby, accompanied by a pair of shadows that approached and stopped before the twins. The latter lifted their heads to look up, and recognised the shapes of none other than their comrades, Jazz and Ratchet.

 _Of course_. It all made sense – well, to Sideswipe, anyway. Sunstreaker continued weeping over his customer paint job.

“Why? _Why?_ ” the yellow Autobot whined. “What did we ever do to you?”

“Er, Sunny-” His brother began, but the Special Operations officer waved his hand to cut the former off.

At Jazz’s side, the CMO uncharacteristically cackled with glee. “Didn’t expect _that_ , did you? But you were caught by surprise, in our prank! Well, you two, what do you think?”

The brothers stared at Ratchet for a second, then exchanged looks with one another. At high speed, they each pulled out a water pistol and squirted water directly in the medic’s faceplate. Startled, the ambulance ‘bot stumbled backwards a couple of steps, giving the mischievous duo a chance to escape.

Once Ratchet had wiped his face and realised that the two miscreants were retreating, his temper completely exploded. He roared his indignance and gave chase.

Remaining behind and content to watch the scene unfold, the black and white car ‘bot shrugged. Never mind. He thought it had been an afternoon well-spent.

**The End**


End file.
